THE RIGHT MUSIC.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 237, 7 October 1933, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE RIGHT MUSIC.

SAD CASE OF BRASS BANDS.

TUNES FOR. OCCASIONS.

(By CYRANO.).

A tiling that has puzzled me for years is the avdagc brass hand's c]ioicc of music. Where do the totally undistinguished marches come from that bands play in public, especially in processions? There must be a. terrible lot of these formless tunes, for bands never seem to be stuck for such mediocrity; or is it possible that there is only one tunc and they deceivc us into believing it to be many? You know the sort of thing I mean —a fundamental growling in the big brasses and a vigorous beating of the drum —"Oom-pa—oom-pa—oom-pa— pom —pom —pom," varied now and then by a faint, feeble suggestion of a tune. 1 sometimes think that these marches are written by the mile, and a bandmaster orders them by the yard, as if they were flannelette. ,

I have heard such stuff as this played time after time in public, when the occasion called for something stirring something familiar, something that brought back memories. I have seen an Anzac Day procession march up to the service to tunes that were completely undistinguished, and, I suspected, alien. Better almost the frank Jingoism of "Soldiers of the Queen" than this meaningless rubbish. That, at least, had memories. And what a chance was lost the other day at that jubilee football match at Eden Park. A great crowd, a great, occasion, the sun shining and the two teams driving on to the ground in something approaching the style of the prc-rnotor days. But what did the band that preceded them play? I don't know. Tio music seemed to mo just a noise. It, did not rise to the occasion at ]f I had had the ordering of it, I think I should have chosen "John Peel," that lovely haunting air of sport and beauty and life. Failing that, there were dozens of historic marches, and what about "The Boys of the Old Brigade"—boys who were waiting in hundreds for the great match to begin? Old Tunes. Opportunity continued to be thrown away when the band took up its position in front of the stand and tried to entertain us. That it did not play good music in the ordinary sense of the word was less of a blunder than that it did not pjay some of the rousing old tunes of the old days. Where was "Good Old Mother" and "Molly Riley," to which the horsebrakes used to slither home through the mud? And where, oh where, was "On The Ball?" It is almost incredible, but the afternoon passed without that football anthem being sung or played.

Such as these may bo what Mr. Kip ling 1 calls

Common tunes that make you choke and blow your nose. Vulgar tunes that bring the laugh that brings the groan,

but tliey have a fine rhythm and robustness that help to unite us in a common humanity. "Daisy Bell" is coming back again. (I heard it for.tho first time for many years, not very long ago in Dunedin, and for a moment I wondered if that admirable but rather self-admiring city were etill in the 'nineties.) Do you tell me there is any tune like it to-day? Those old airs have a dash, a vigour, a friendliness, and simplicity, that the syncopated dreariness of to-day wholly lacks.. So let us hear them when we are gathered together in crowds. And ae for the better things—there is no end to them. One of the duties of bands is to keep old English music alive. I met a Welshman the other day who told me that in his student days in Germany before the war—he was training for the operatic stage—ho heard a famous teacher say there were no English folk eongs—wherefore he sang 60 to show him! And there is "Gilbert and Sullivan." Hackneyed, you may say, but how often do you hear it on a band compared with the yard-length stuff that is so cojimon? It would be quite appropriate for a band to march on at a football jubilee to the air of

Bow, bow, ye lower middle classes! Bow, bow, ye tradesmen, bow, ye masses! It is curious, too, moving from the mock heroic to the heroic, how seldom "Land of Hope and Glory" is heard as a processional—yet what a swelling theme!

Appropriate is a delicate flavour completing a dish, a soft hand touching memories. Tens of thousands will remember the incidental music to that fine play of three generations, "Milestones." You may say that "She Wore a Wreath of Roses" positively drips with sentiment, but how perfect it was as a prelude to that first act of crinolines and waxed fruit! I can hear it now drifting through the house in Christchurch on that first night. There is also a propriety that may bo accidental. A New Zealand officer who went with a crowd to be decorated at Buckingham Palace assures me that in the middle of the proceedings the band played—

I - 01 ' ( i Chancellors were cheap as sprats, And Bishops in their shovel hats "ere plentiful as tabby cats In point of fact, too many. Ambassadors cropped up like liay, rrime Ministers and such as they Orcw like asparagus in May, And Dukes were three a penny. On every side Field-.Marshals gleamed, -??a" beer were Lords-Lieutenant deemed, iVith Admirals the ocean teemed All round his wide Dominions. Music at Meals. There is one place where music is seldom, if ever, appropriate, and that is at meals. Perhaps soft and distant — and good—it is tolerable and even agreeable, but as ordinarily served up in restaurants it is an infernal nuisance. If you give a dinner party in your suburban bungalow, do you'put someone to pQund the piano or make fritters on thfe violin in the next room, with the door open ? You do not. Being civilised, you realise that conversation is an integral part of dinner, and that for good conversation quiet is necessary. Many a meal with valued friends — some of them met for the first time in years—I have had spoiled by too insistent music. In some places ifcliey hurl it at you. The other day I went into a restaurant for lunch, and just past the pay desk I was violently assaulted by a roar from a loud speaker. As I turned to go out the young lady at the desk asked me if 1 was going upstairs. "No," I said, "I am going where it is quiet." I suppose people who live in such din as this get used to it. The noise goes in at one ear and comes out at the other. Indeed, as counsel said on a famous occasion, what is there to stop it? But perhaps I am in a minority, and there are numbers of people who like eating to music. It takes all kinds to make a world.

There was once. a wealthy New Zcalander in England who engaged a brass band for his houseboat at Henley. That lie and Henley survived the outrage is a proof of the toughness of both. Yes, music in its place—the bagpipes at the head of the regiment and nowhere else — and the right music for the right place.